


A Very Fine Evening

by Winterling42



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 22:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19799323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterling42/pseuds/Winterling42
Summary: Molly gets in over his head in a fight he didn't even start! Yasha steps in.





	A Very Fine Evening

Molly was fine. He’d told Gustav so, when he’d left to go carousing for the night and no one from the circus wanted to go with him. He’d shrugged off the first few black looks, laughed at the muttered remarks, and went back to flirting with the barmaid. There was no one in this podunk little town worth being afraid of, and barely anyone worth conning. 

He was fine, even outnumbered three to one behind the back of the tavern. After all, he had a sword, and they didn’t. Two swords, even, if he remembered to draw them both. 

“Well, and how can I help you fine gentlemen this evening?” he tried to lilt the vowels the way he’d heard the old man a few towns back, but it mostly just sounded like Common. Better than the Infernal accent he’d had, when he’d first started talking.

“Don’t need devils like you corrupting our kids.” One upstanding citizen snarled, his voice thick as mud. He had a torch in one hand and a dagger in the other. Oh, the dagger was new, Molly hadn’t noticed  _ that _ before. “Circus scum.”

“Nothing but a bunch of phonies,” his mate chimed in,  _ also _ with a dagger. Gods, was he really going to have to fight these people? “S all fake.”

“You’re stealing money from the goodfolk here,” the third sounded like he’d been drinking as much as Molly had, but not having nearly as good of a time. “Someone ought to teach you a lesson.” 

“It’s not stealing if they  _ give _ it to you.” Molly reared his head back, affronted. “Don’t make me do something I’m going to regret in the morning.” 

“Stuff your regrets,” the ringleader said, and stepped in for a swing. The pain cut across Mollymauk’s chest, bright and clean and red, but before he could do more than growl a shadow stepped up and slammed into the bullies from behind. 

“You. Leave. Him. Alone.” A giant of a woman, with deathly pale skin and black braids that faded to white along the tips, was holding farmer number three’s arm like a child’s toy. Her mismatched eyes gleamed from the dark smears of kohl around them, and her snarl was (almost) as sharp as Molly’s. 

Of course, two against four still seemed like pretty good odds to the yokels, even after Molly managed to get one of his swords out of its sheath. His coat kept tangling around the hilt, which seemed much smaller than usual. He managed to duck the wild haymaker punch on peasant threw at him, but not the knife thrust of another, which caught him in the arm. He could feel the cold metal for a second or two before the pain set it, an alien thing under his skin and muscle before they jerked it free.  _ Then _ the pain came. 

The only thing was...he didn’t  _ want _ to kill these idiots. He slid forward and cut at a man’s hamstrings, feeling his sword slice neatly through flesh even as he moved forward. He spun the scimitar in one hand and stabbed at the dagger of another, delighting in the ugly crash of metal on metal. At his side, the stranger went at them with only her fists, a furious growl coming from somewhere low in her chest. She slammed heads together, she kicked a man’s leg so hard it bent backwards. She was careless of the little knives they carried, picking up cuts on her chest and arms and even one dangerously close to her eye. 

But all that Molly picked up later, after the two of them were standing in the middle of a groaning, twitching pile of very upset farmers. He and his strange saviour looked at each other for a long moment, both breathing hard, rather more blood on their outsides than was healthy. “We’d better get out of here,” Molly said, even as one of the yokels moaned and heaved himself back to his feet. He looked at the two weirdos, then back at his comrades...and he ran for the back door of the inn. Molly grimaced. “Yeah, definitely time to be going. Gustav’s going to  _ kill _ me.” He turned back towards the circus, stopping only when it was clear she wasn’t following him. “Hey. You too. Unless you’d rather ‘talk it out’ with them.” He jerked his head towards the well-lit building. 

The woman started, looking up from an intense inspection of her bruised knuckles. “With you?” she asked, like she just didn’t believe in common decency. 

“Yeah,” Molly said, and managed not to add,  _ obviously _ . 

She caught up to him in just a few steps, moving dangerously quick over the uneven ground. Molly definitely felt his heart skip a beat, looking up at her  _ loom _ so magnificently. “I’m Mollymauk,” he said, managing to put his sword away and hold a hand out for her to shake. He was still quite proud of that name, and liked to show it off as much as possible. 

“I’m. Yasha.” She took his hand very gently, like she was afraid she was going to break it. He didn’t let go right away, either, but tugged her forward, towards the circus. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Yasha,” Molly said, and his smile was as genuine as they came. “A very great pleasure indeed.” 


End file.
